


A Look Back

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Mary Poppins (1964)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-21
Updated: 2007-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:25:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1631396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes what is lost is what's remembered best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Look Back

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Lexie

 

 

I

A young man with prematurely graying hair knelt on a patch of sidewalk near Russell Square, a growing picture spreading out from under his nimble hands. The magic pictures appeared as quickly and as effortlessly as silk scarves from a conjurer's hat; one could scarcely see his agile fingers move.

The scene he was drawing was a complicated one, done in a variety of styles. It portrayed a hall in a museum--the British Museum, in fact, not a ten minute walk from where he knelt--with varied guests and, from left to right, a selection of some of the museum's best-known works, ranging from the primitive to the modern.

It was an excellent drawing, so excellent in fact that a few hasty Londoners actually stopped to murmur appreciatively over it. Some coins were dropped into his hat, though not so many as he deserved, screeving being a universally underappreciated profession.

He was nearly finished--there was only a flourish or two remaining--and it was nearly teatime, so he began to contemplate moving on when a young girl ran up to stand beside him.

"Oh, look," she gushed. "I saw all that today! There is the Rosa stone! And there is the giant foot! And that is me!" she squealed, delighted.

Indeed, the little girl in the drawing did bear a slight resemblance to the child--both had blonde hair and blue coats. The artist did not remark upon the current bounty of blonde girls in blue coats one saw on the streets of London nowadays, but rather said, discreetly, "Well, it was you I was thinking of, love."

"You must be magic," the child told him, with the brimming confidence and delight of a girl of nearly seven years.

"There isn't any such thing as magic," a sudden voice sneered--the older brother, if his resemblance to the girl was any indication. He was a few years older than his sister, and wore the sour expression of one who has been much disappointed by life. The young artist was more used to seeing it on the face of men rather older.

"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure of that, young master," the screever said, and from the boy's ear he pulled a cotton handkerchief, slowly, "So as not to disrupt the brain," he said in a confidential tone to the sister.

"It was in your hand all along," the boy said, but uncertainly. The screever's sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, so they would not rub against his picture.

"Look, Andrew," said the little girl, who had been handed the handkerchief when the boy would not take it. "It has your initials on it!"

"Let me see that!" Andrew snapped, taking it from her. There, in red, were two A's, interlaced with each other, and a small red rose. Andrew looked up at the young man, who winked at him.

II

When the two children had gone on to inspect the nut vendor on the corner a dignified, elderly, gray-haired man with a handsome walking stick approached the young artist.

He stood there for quite some time examining the picture, mmm-ing and ah-ing to himself, and at some length he released a long "Go-o-o-lly," with considerable relish. He and the young man exchanged a professional look, a fiver sliding from one hand to the other.

"You want to watch your corners, Bill," the elderly man said, in a kindly way.

"You just mind your own business, Mr. Alfred, and never you mind my corners." Bill's affectionate tone belied his harsh words, and Mr. Alfred smiled behind his white moustache. Just then the children ran back and attached themselves to him, the boy begging for nuts while the girl waved the magic handkerchief and retold the story with much embellishment.

"Nuts!" Mr. Alfred said, in a tone of great consternation, "It's nearly tea-time, boy, what d'you mean asking me for nuts?"

And to the young lady, he replied, "Well, that is very fine, Alice my dear; I hope you thanked the gentleman properly."

"Oh, I did, Grand-papa, I promise! And Andrew said I may have it, since our initials are the same." Leaning close to him, she announced in a stage-whisper, "And anyway, he doesn't believe in magic, you know."

Mr. Alfred smiled at her. "Well, perhaps we may prove him wrong yet," he replied.

III

When the three of them arrived home they found that 8 Strawberry Lane was in huge disarray; boxes and steamer trunks lined the front hall, and there were cages on the lawn containing a monkey, a parrot, and a very large lizard. Alice at once ran over to the monkey, which chittered at her and offered her a small nut.

"Alice, Alice, come over here, my girl, you mustn't approach strange animals like that," Mr. Alfred said, drawing her away from the cage.

"Hullo, Willards," he said, to the suited butler who had just appeared. "What's to-do?"

"It's Mr. Banks, sir," Willards said sourly, dragging ineffectually at a large trunk.

"Mr. Banks," Mr. Alfred repeated, thunderstruck, and there suddenly before him, six feet tall at least, was Michael.

"Hallo, Bert," he said cheerfully.

IV

The children were instantly charmed by their huge, bear-like uncle; even if he had not had a strange menagerie with him, and an Indian servant, and half a dozen presents for them (and what presents they were! A carved ivory ball, that contained five more ivory balls within it; Uncle Michael explained it had been painstaking carved from the outside in, and he showed them how you could turn the inner spheres if you were careful. There was also a china doll, dressed in the Indian style; she had Kohl-lined eyes and fine, brightly-colored silk clothes; and then there was a fine chess set, with animals for the pieces...) they would have loved him instantly. His good grace and pleasant manners could not but help to win over even the most suspicious of hearts, and even more uncommon than this he was a man of intelligence and good sense.

The children were invited to dinner for the occasion of his arrival, and though their father (Mr. Edward Alfred) sighed and cast a great many discontented looks in their direction, they were allowed to stay until pudding was served.

"Right, then," their father said, as soon as the last mouthful had been consumed, "have Betsy put you to bed."

"And say goodnight to your father, and your uncle," said Mr. Bert Alfred, who had a rather finer sense of delicacy than his son.

Edward suffered their meek kisses, while Michael enthusiastically returned them and wished them sweet dreams.

"Is Betsy the nursery maid?" Michael asked, after the children had gone.

"No, we have not been able to keep one," Edward sighed. "Father did not like the looks of the last one. And a dratted nuisance it is, too."

"Hmm," said Michael.

"Listen, Michael," said Edward, leaning forward. "I would very much like to continue our earlier discussion. Father, I hope you will excuse us," Edward said.

"Not at all, not at all," said Bert; but it was clear, to Michael at least, that his feelings were hurt. "I believe I shall go and read for a while," he said, but his son merely nodded at him, not attending.

Bert tried not to let himself be troubled; there would be plenty of time to visit with Michael during his stay, and it was only natural that Edward would want to talk to him alone, and at once. Edward was a member of Parliament, after all, and Michael was a well-traveled man with many connections.

Still, Bert could not help but be a little disappointed. He had not seen Michael in many years, not, he reflected, since Edward and Annabel had been married. He had not been able to make it back in England in time for her funeral.

Bert went to the library, but he did not read; instead he stood by the window and looked out at the street, his thoughts more disordered than usual. Perhaps it was having so little time to himself that did it; he spent much of the day caring for the children now, ever since Louisa had left them. Edward was very angry with him for refusing all the governesses...

V

"Mary," Bert said, laughing, "Here, take my arm!"

She laughed with him, and stepped cautiously out onto the ice. Nearby, an otter and a rabbit whizzed past them, arm in arm, discussing a poem.

Bert and Mary took a few cautious steps together on the ice, and then fell down in a heap together. "I'm very sorry, Mary," Bert said, breathlessly, pulling her to her feet. "I suppose it 'ent as easy as it looks."

"Never mind, never mind," Mary said. Her cheeks were very red from the cold and the exertion. "It is so pleasant here!"

They watched the otter and the rabbit go by again.

"It is One starlit night, upon my head," the rabbit said.

"No, no, I think you'll find it is One night, with stars upon my head."

"I suppose it's more gliding, than stepping," Bert said, critically.

"I think you're right. Let's try it, shall we?"

They stepped out again, Mary holding his hand tight in one of her white-gloved ones, and Bert found it was easier this time. Soon they were gliding quite easily up and down the frozen river; when they reached the bend Bert even felt brave enough to spin her around before they turned and went back.

"Bert!" she said, delighted. "You are very good."

"Well, I do try, Mary," Bert said modestly.

The rabbit and the otter went by again; they had moved on to the second verse.

"No, no," the rabbit said, with a shake of his head. "I tell you, it is Outside the white, right by my bed."

"Do you hear music, Bert?" Mary said, some little time later.  
"Why, I do think I hear something," Bert said.

More animals had come to skate upon the ice; a family of bears, an elegant swan, and a long-legged gray dog now joined them. Quite close by one could hear the sound of French horns and trumpets, and presently the band appeared, dressed in smart blue uniforms and seated in small spindly chairs by the river.

"Why, how lovely. You always think of everything, Bert," Mary said, with a look of such intense fondness that Bert felt his heart swell up, quite rapidly.

VI

"Bert," a voice said, and someone touched his shoulder, gently.

Bert blinked awake, then shook his head.

"Michael?" he said, yawning.

Michael settled down in the chair across from him. "Edward has gone to bed. He has an early meeting in the morning."

"What time is it?"

"Oh, eleven o'clock, or nearly."

"Well," Bert said, with a wry look. "I suppose we ought to follow his example."

They did no such thing, however; Michael poured them both a glass of port and they began a long talk about everything that had happened to them, these past ten years and more.

Bert and Michael had known each other for a long time, since Michael was Andrew's age and Bert was a much younger man. They had been friends all that time, even when they had been quite far apart; when Michael had been away at school, for example, or when Bert had fought in the war.

When you are friends with someone for such a long time you may find that you can say many things to them with a blink, or a wave of the hand, and that even if many years have passed since the last time you spoke it is quite easy to talk to each other again.

"Andrew did not seem so very bad, as you described in your letter."

"Well, I am glad to hear you say that. I think he is very happy to see you. I hope you can help him, Michael, he was very close to his mother."

"It might help if the children had a governess again," Michael said. "It must be difficult for them, not having a woman to look after them." He was thinking, in particular, of their dirty hands and wrinkled shirts at dinner, but he was far too polite to say anything of the kind.

"They have Betsy," Bert said, who had no notion of this.

"Betsy is almost an old woman, though, and she's very busy as it is."

"Hmph," Bert said, out of sorts. "You've been talking to Edward about this."

"Edward is concerned for his children, Bert. They need someone to look after them."

"I look after them," Bert said, with an anger that was quite unusual for him.

"Yes, I know," Michael said, placatingly, "But you yourself have admitted to me they are sometimes a trial."

Bert did not respond immediately; he sipped his port and looked out of the window again.

"The last woman wasn't any good," he said at last. "She hit Alice; she had no patience for them. She wasn't--"

"Another governess--"

"No. The world's different, now, Michael. Can't you feel it? It's grey, as if all the color's gone out, all the magic..."  
Michael was listening closely, watching him in concern. "Bert, you need greater occupation," he said, quietly. "I know it's been hard to bear Annabel's death, and Joan's..."

"I'm not speaking of Annabel and my wife," Bert said, crossly. "It started before then. Long ago. When I was a young man...do you remember, Michael, I used to draw pictures and sell matches, and you children would call me the Match Man?" At Michael's affirmative nod, he continued, "Before I married Joan and we had the cigar shop...I remember those days so well. When I drew pictures, it was almost as if...it was almost as if you could go inside them.

"The world seemed--it seemed to be a kind place. My clothes were not very fine, and I did not always have enough to eat, but the world seemed so bright and fine with possibility. There was always the chance someone would take quite a liking to my pictures, you know, and give me a grand tip; and then I might buy a new hat, and if I had a very good week a new suit--and there would be tea..."

Bert went very quiet, and Michael watched him in anxiety. He had never known anyone more cheerful and good-natured than Bert, and it hurt him to see his old friend so downcast. "But you have so much now," Michael said. "Your business did very well, and it grew. Your son is an important man, you live in a fine house and have lovely grandchildren."

Bert shook his head. "You don't understand. For you, there can still be magic left in the world, you can still change things...do you know what I was dreaming of, just now, before you came in?" Bert asked suddenly.

"No, I can't guess."

"Your old governess. Mary Poppins," Bert said. He smiled just saying her name. "Now she was a proper governess. If she turned up at the door, I shouldn't turn her away, oh no," said Bert with a chuckle.

"Yes," Michael agreed fondly. "Mary Poppins was grand."

"I used to think of her quite often during the war," Bert said. "Strange, isn't it? You'd think I'd've been dreaming about my own wife and child, but I suppose it was too painful. I hadn't seen Mary in a long time, by then. You children were older.

"But all of a sudden I was thinking of her quite often. I used to tell myself little stories, daydreams to get me through the hard times." Bert smiled tenderly at the memory. "I was always sweet on her. She was Quite a Girl." He said this as if it were a rather unusual thing for a girl to be. "Quite a Girl. I dreamed up all sorts of adventures for us, picnics and train rides--all sorts of things. Carnivals and merry-go-rounds. And when I got home, I told them to Edward, and my little Anna--you never knew her, did you, Michael? No, I thought not. She died when she was just a little girl; it quite broke our hearts, all our hearts.

"Edward didn't like to hear about Mary Poppins, after that. All the fun quite went out of him. I don't suppose, Michael," he said, very casually, "That you know what became of her? After she left you?"

"Mary Poppins? Why--no. She was like a force of nature. You could never tell when she'd be coming or going."

"Oh," said Bert, but he did not seem surprised. "And you never wrote her? Or got her direction?"

Michael smiled. "It would have been like writing to the sun," he said.

"Yes," Bert said gravely. "I suppose so." He did not speak of his secret fear, that Mary had died in the intervening years, though it might have been almost as bad to see her grown old, and soured by life.

"I think we benefited from her quite as much as you did," Michael said. "We children, I mean."

Bert thought of Jane, who was a rather famous novelist, and Barbara and John, who were professors in America. "I suppose you did," Bert said. "But I rather think John or Barbara might come and teach at Cambridge or Oxford you know; they must be quite as good as any college they have over there."

VII

Bert awoke rather late the next morning, having stayed up half the night talking to Michael, and having drunk rather more port than he was used to. He lay there a moment, quite comfortable, and then suddenly said to himself, "The children!"

He was up and dressed as fast as he could manage, but it was already too late; the children were not in their beds, or in the nursery at all. "Oh dear, oh dear," he murmured to himself, and eventually he found Alice on the lawn, playing croquet with the monkey. The parrot sat on her shoulder, grooming itself, and the lizard watched from a large rock on the edge of the ornamental pond, blinking in the sun.

"Good morning, Grand-papa!" Alice said cheerfully.

"Good morning, Alice," said Bert. "Where is your brother?"

"I don't know. He said he wouldn't play croquet. It's your turn--" this last to the monkey, who obligingly struck his mallet to one of the balls.

Just then a large crash could be heard from the house. Bert looked alarmed and raced inside; there was no one in sight and he was heading towards the entranceway--

When he saw bed sheets hanging from the chandelier, Andrew looking at them rather shamefacedly.

"Oh dear--" Bert said, and then when he saw the grandfather clock, which was lying facedown on the floor, he was quite silent. Andrew was turning red, and obviously preparing himself for tears when the front door opened and in came Edward and Michael, accompanied by another gentleman. Edward was speaking, and did not at first notice the mess, but when his guests were silent, he turned to follow their stares.

"Father--" Andrew managed to choke out, before Edward said, so furious neither his parent nor his child could recognize him for a moment, "What the devil did you do?"

Alice ran in then, chasing the monkey, the parrot flying after, calling, "Give it back, give it back, d'you hear? You mustn't run off with the ball!"

Edward turned his menacing eye on his daughter, and Bert was despairing for them all when a loud, audible sniff was heard on the front step, in the open doorway behind the gentlemen.

They turned, for it was the kind of sniff that could never be ignored, that must always be acknowledged, and a young woman in a blue coat, carrying a bag and an old-fashioned parrot-headed umbrella walked in. "A fine mess," she said, and this seemed to take in the adults quite as much as it did the children.

"Who are you--" Edward began, black as fury, but before he could continue the young woman replied, "My name in Mary Poppins. I am the governess." And, with a friendly nod at Mr. Banks, who was standing behind his brother-in-law, "I have been Engaged."

VIII

Edward, contrary to what his family thought, did actually care for his children, but he was too busy to be much concerned with the manner of their upbringing. When his wife had lived, he had been kind and angry in the usual doses; after her death Andrew and Alice had seen much more of the former and much less of the latter.

Now, with a capable (though rather high-minded) governess managing them he found he could quite enjoy them again, in small amounts and at pre-determined times. He had even, lately, called them Good Children.

The house seemed to run better with Mary Poppins in it; he supposed she must set a good example for the other servants. The silver was always properly polished, now, the linens laid just so, his bathwater was always hot and he could always be sure of supper no matter what hours he kept. The cold grief that had gripped his heart began to loosen some.

"Do you know, Michael," he said to his brother-in-law, as they were crossing paths in the entrance way, "I believe it runs better now."

Michael gazed solemnly up at the clock, which had been placed carefully back in its usual spot after its repair.

"I am never late for meetings anymore," Edward said.

"I daresay you are right," Michael replied.

IX  
"She's magic," Alice said to her brother.

"There's no such thing," Andrew hissed angrily. They were quite alone, having been told to mind their lessons and be good children while Mary Poppins had her afternoon off.

"Go outside the nursery, then," Alice said, smugly, turning the page in her book. She knew he would do no such thing.

Andrew looked at the nursery door, and then away quickly. "Why should I? You'll just tattle."

"I won't," she said. "But Mary Poppins will know anyway."

"She won't," Andrew said, but half-heartedly. He had seen Mary Poppins slide up the banister, and only yesterday she had taken them into a painting the Royal Academy. He knew, glumly, that his sister had been right all along, that magic was real, and it was only obstinacy that kept him from admitting it.

"Do you think she really will take us to tea with her uncle?" he asked suddenly.

X

"Oh, Mary," Bert said, walking hand in hand with Mary Poppins. He felt quite young again (and looked it, too, for Mary Poppins had shown him in the small glass she always carried with her.) "I never thought I would see you again."

Mary regarded him fondly, and although she said very little to anyone on any subject, it seemed to Bert that with this glance she was telling him she felt the same way.

"Those children are not the only children in the world, you know," she said sternly. "There are many children that need proper looking after."

"Yes, Mary," Bert said meekly. Still, she did not let go of his hand, which he found encouraging.

"Mary," he said, but when she glanced at him again, a cool look, he did not continue.

Well, he thought to himself, I suppose you cannot marry a fairy.

He might have said it out loud, though, to see the small, secret smile that came over Mary Poppins' face. "Here we are at last," he said, and he escorted her into the small pink and white café where they would have their tea.

 

 

 


End file.
